Senior Moments: It was all about the words

As I lifted the head of my late mentor from its protective box, I laughed out loud thinking how much he would have loved the idea. I had brought the bust of Canadian poet Irving Layton, which he had given me, to be a surprise guest at a luncheon meeting with his widow.

After my recent column about studying with the renowned poet in Montreal when I was a young woman, I received a note from Anna Pottier, who identified herself as his fifth and final wife. She is just finishing writing a book, “Good as Gone: My Life with Irving Layton,” which will be out next March.

A spirited exchange of emails resulted in our getting together despite the nearly 700 miles that separate us.

As we shared our stories — hers as his mate, mine as his student — it was clear that one commonality bonded us. We both fell in love with Irving Layton’s words before meeting the man.

When I arrived in Montreal to spend the summer writing poetry, I read his work for the first time and fell in love with his spare style and elegant use of language.

Although she was 48 years his junior, and a student when they first met, Anna said she also fell in love with Layton the first time she read his poetry. The rest of their remarkable story is in her book.

In addition to the bust, I brought along some of Layton’s books, including one that, before this trip, I hadn’t looked at in years. Opening it to show her, I read his inscription aloud: “For my wonderful god-daughter, Patty. Hugs and Kisses. Love, Irving.”

It was dated June 7, 1971, exactly 43 years ago to the day of my lunch with his wife. My past was visiting my present. Anna and I looked at each other in amazement.

Could this have been random?

I turned to the head at our table and asked, “Irving, did you arrange this?” I cannot be positive, but I am pretty sure I saw him smile.